The Whisper in the Woods
The next morning, Cuco sat silently at the breakfast table, staring into his cereal as if it held answers. His mom talked in the background—something about laundry, something about school—but her voice sounded distant, like it was underwater.
The dream—or whatever it was—kept replaying in his head.
The growl.
The glowing eyes.
The mark on his hand.
Except now, it was gone.
He checked again, just to be sure.
Still nothing.
Smooth skin. No glow. No sign it had ever been there.
Maybe he was losing it.
---
At school, Cuco barely registered what the teachers were saying. Words floated past him like static. His friend—Tariq—watched him from the next seat, eyes sharp and quiet, like he knew something Cuco didn't.
Finally, Cuco whispered, "Did anything weird happen to you last night?"
Tariq hesitated. "Why?"
"I... I thought I saw something. In the woods."
Tariq leaned in, his expression darkening. "You went out there?"
Cuco nodded slowly. "I couldn't sleep. I heard something. I followed it."
Tariq's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You shouldn't have done that."
Cuco frowned. "Why not?"
But Tariq didn't answer.
He just looked at Cuco's hand.
"Is the mark still there?"
Cuco's breath caught.
"How do you know about that?"
Tariq gave a tight, unreadable smile.
"You're not the only one having dreams."
Before Cuco could ask more, the bell rang.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Cuco couldn't stop thinking about what Tariq had said. If they were both having the same dreams, then maybe they weren't dreams at all.
Maybe something was happening.
Something real.
---
That night, Cuco sat on his bed, staring out the window at the tree line behind his house. The forest stood still. Too still. Not even the crickets dared to sing.
He turned off the light and lay down, but sleep refused to come. Midnight crept in like a shadow.
Then—click.
Not from outside.
Inside.
Cuco sat up, heart racing.
The window latch.
It was open.
But he hadn't opened it.
A cold breeze slipped into the room, brushing against his face. And with it... a sound.
A whisper.
Faint.
Distant.
Like a voice calling from deep beneath the earth:
"Come back..."
Cuco froze.
The wind died.
The whisper vanished.
But his hand—
It was glowing again.